


Long Nights Wondering

by SassafrassRex (Serbajean)



Series: Purchased, Traded, Wagered, Won [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Best year of Shiro's life~~poor thing never deserved any of this, Haggar has too many feelings and none of them right, Haggar in repose being chill, History, Is this... fluff?, Pre-Voltron, Slice of Life, Storytelling, Which is odd since 'pissed af' is the only way I know how to write her, epithets b/c the Galra believe in spectacle and proper PR, semi-disjointed narrative, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serbajean/pseuds/SassafrassRex
Summary: The Galra empire stood for ten thousand years. In all that time, she’d never known someone quite like him.OREvery iteration of creation has been host to an antediluvian age of giants and legends.ORA story and a quiet moment, between the witch, Haggar and someone very precious to her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> In light of the... medieval/Biblical can of _hurt_ that I wanted to open on some of my countrymen today/yesterday/day-before-yesterday... [deep breath]... I catharsis-ed out this codswallop instead. Behold my fury, reformed into the guise of an arrogant, crazy old bat (who strangely enough, _isn’t_ angry in this).  
>  It turned out fun in the end. I do feel better now.  
> Yes, this is part of a continuity. Somewhere in the middle. No, you don’t need to have read the rest.  
> Also. Ten thousand years is a long time my dudes. It’s a Long. Fucking. Time.
> 
> EDIT: Now part of a series, BUT this one is set a very long time after No Greater Heaven.  
> (However, something of a bridge between the two is sort of in the works. Feel free to stay tuned).

 

It was Haggar, who broke the back of the stalwart Altean army. On the day when she’d first attained the full breadth of her power, when she had twisted minds and broken wills. It was she, who silenced their mightiest warrior and left them floundering; stunned and dismayed.

She’d hated that warrior. On her master’s behalf, on the entire cosmos’ behalf. When first her eyes had been opened to the truth of Altea's guardian, her hatred flared up white hot. She saw the weightiness of his power, she saw the way it locked him into stagnancy. How he _could_ have rewritten the universe, were he only willing. Were his loyalty still safely with her master, where it belonged. Yet, in the hands of Altea, he had no vision. He held creation at a standstill, preserved in mediocrity. Fighting a war against the Galra, who would see it advance.

He was a titan, planted firmly in the way of progress. He could not be allowed to stand.

She defeated him (through trickery and deceit and all manner of dishonorable means. But defeat him she _did)._ When he fell apart at her feet, undone by his own might turned back upon him, all the worlds were changed.

The wake of their clash tore space apart and recoil of it seared through her mind. And she peered through the rip and she saw—

That day had earned her the name, _Defiler_. An iconoclast to all enemies of the Galra. The one who killed gods and cast down idols.

The Alteans never called on their godwarrior again. In the eyes of their elders, he was already defeated. Altea was doomed. She personally reached through space and wrapped her fingers around their minds, that they would _always_  believe this. From afar, she whispered into their ears, to _let him lie._  She robbed them of hope. Their warrior was dead, their time was up.

On the final day of victory, when the Galra moved in to claim him, there was nothing left to find. They caught up a scrap of him, retreating through space and they dragged it down.

With the fall of Altea, the Galra had finally been able to expand. With the fall of Altea, had begun what would be called the Bright Age. With her eyes and ears opened, Haggar grew strong. Together, she and her master came into their own, firmly drawing each other forward, climbing ever higher. And in their ascent, they dragged the rest of creation along with them. The worlds advanced and evolved, in power and right-thought. Every bit as beautiful as she had hoped it would be. She and her master stood at the head of the greatest civilization ever known.

And with her eyes wide and her hands stretched across the universe, she had tracked down others like them. Others to spread this most splendid truth of the Galra Empire.

She had walked among the greatest Names the universe has ever seen. Or will ever see.

They had been her fellows, her compatriots. She had named them Friends. She and her master had stood at their head and dispatched them to all corners of existence. It was through their efforts that the empire steadily grew and grew and grew.

She remembered the roaring, ground-shattering might of Reizolm, who had been the Untiring. And after her, the star-shaking power of her tiniest granddaughter, Suryonat. Zaqni, the swift traveler, who tore time apart in his wake. The unclouded, far-reaching eyes of Seshtoreth, and the truly limitless depths of her understanding. Sadhai, whose gentle care had extinguished entire peoples, and the molten fury of his brother Nakuat, who dragged forth life from the lifeless.

Beings of strength and rage and wisdom and fortitude. Even during the Bright Age, they had been the few among all the multitudes of existence; the select few designed for resplendence. She had known them. She had been there when their grace emerged. And as the cosmos marched on, she was there every time, to close their eyes when they fell.

The last of them had disappeared over six thousand years ago, when the universe descended into new mediocrity. Much later, she would decide that his death was what finally ended it. When he went (burned in his own fires) something somewhere had changed. Grown dimmer. And flimsy and thin.

And, though she knew not _how_ , she herself began to decline.

It happened slowly, so she did not notice. One day she was called upon to collapse a star and, though she knew not _why_ , she couldn’t do it.

And it also happened quickly. After a long retreat and contemplation, she startled back into awareness with clawtracks on her cheeks and half her universe suddenly gone. Once able to feel the faint brush of _everything_ , she was rendered half-empty. She stumbled, she searched, all in vain. The aching _lack_ in her mind drove her mad, and though she reached and begged and tried and tried and tried, she could not regain what she had lost.

With blinders on her eyes and her ears stopped up, Haggar collapsed to lay insensate. For so long that when she returned again, many were surprised to see she still lived. And when she did rise, it was to a new horror. She woke from her twisted, splintering visions and sought her master. And when she saw him, she wanted to wake up again, for she _must_ have been dreaming still.

Her master was less. Slowly, he was declining, as surely as she. Years had found him. The power he had sequestered for himself would run dry someday, and she could see him _dying_ before her eyes.

It sent her into such a panic that she tore through her laboratory, tore through her notes, upended everything she owned in a crazed search for a way to _make it stop_. He’d die. He couldn’t, but he would just the same. Not her emperor, he would _not._

As always, when faced with trial, she turned her attention to quintessence; to the raw stuff of the universe. Once, she had woven it through her fingers, as easily as she breathed. Once, long ago, when she first stepped into the footprints of deities. Now, she could only just see it, rushing like wind under the skin of every living creature. But she could not grasp it. With her numbed hands, she could not draw it forth.

But that she _couldn’t_ , did not mean she _hadn’t._ She had seen the weave of the universe. She had plucked threads from it, burned holes into it. Hobble her, blind her, she would not forget what she'd learned.

It was years before she retrained herself. Years of technological advancement, of recruiting the finest minds left in the empire. Years of building her Order and expanding her reach, since she could no longer span the vastness of space on her own. Years spent mining in the depths of her own fund of knowledge for any clue at all. 

Years, before vast machines with crackling faces and canny workings were turned upon the surface of a planet. She held her breath, as she had every time before (every time she’d failed). With the warped constructs amplifying her strength, she reached down to that planet, and she began to _harvest_.

Once upon a time, she would have felt the demise of every creature on this rock. She could have detailed their every dying thought. Now she could only make out vague feelings (malaise; dread; confusion as their world grew incrementally grayer with each passing day). She hardly heard a thing, and the wretched silence made her grind her teeth.

It was so very _torturously_ slow. For days she dragged at it. It might have been years. Too inefficient to ever be of any practical use (she would not truly return to her Komar experiment for eons to come).

But it happened.

It happened. And for that, it was beautiful. Near two millennia since her fall, she first held quintessence in her bare hands and she was alive again.

The Bright Age was gone. But the Galra lived. The Galra would live forever. And flourish and prosper and march ever forward. Filled with the power they had once thought lost, she and her master would live forever.

* * *

She grinned through the close of her tale. That had been over three thousand years ago.

She looked down at the dark head resting quietly on her knee. Resting _so_ quiet, she might have thought him asleep. She wouldn’t object if he were. It would have done him good.

When she went to fetch him this morning, he could barely stand. He was far too poorly off for his training, so instead, she bade him join her meditation.

He looked away from her, wounded but trying to hide it. As though ashamed, he quietly confided that he didn't know how. If he'd ever known, he couldn't remember.

But why else did he breathe but for her to teach him?

He'd knelt with her amidst her floating mirrors and muted lights, and there they had remained for a time. Suspended all around, the crystals hummed. But then she found herself reemerging earlier than expected. Her thoughts strayed, from the universe to him. Though he'd remained quiet, and still as a statue, she could no longer concentrate with him present.

She was Thoughtsmith. She was Pneumascribe. One would have expected her discipline to have served her better.

Before very long at all, she abandoned her attempts and permitted herself indulgence. Like one in a daze, he did not stir when she reached out, and drew him over and down. As though of its own volition, her mouth opened and her smiling story spilled out into the air.

Quietly, she heard him sigh. The sound drew her eyes downwards, to the strange sight of him drowsing. Strange, because she never saw him so at ease. Calm certainly, but never as relaxed as this, never while he was awake. But then, such was the nature of this place. She considered that she should have brought him here earlier. The light and the sound could lull even the wariest of souls. On occasion, the emperor himself could be found here, in search of his own peace.

She lifted her eyes to the softly winking lights. “Did they speak to you?” she asked him. They had been here for some time after all. Before she’d started rambling like some old fool.

He nodded slightly.

“What things have they said?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes peered open, the beginnings of a frown showing on his face. “Something important. Couldn’t…”

She ran a hand through his hair. “Try again.” She would bring him here more often.

Gently, she pushed him towards sleep, that he might better hear it. Perhaps when he woke he would be able to explain.

He drifted off without complaint. Looking back up, she traced each glowing stripe of their quintessence, spiraling and crossing around the two of them. It lined the floor in a bright mandala. She waited, and watched the many lights slowly rise and fall.

Such was this place.

She felt movement under her hand. His head jerked lightly, like a beast twitching away an insect. Then did so again. She watched his knees slowly draw up closer to his chest. His fists closed then opened then closed again. He made a small sound of distress, high in his throat.

This was a peaceful place. She watched idly as a full-bodied shudder stretched from the top of his head, down to his toes. Something that (thankfully) wasn’t quite a whimper. Then clonus stole all over him.

Her smile was fond. She wondered what he was seeing.

His foot snapped out in a kick. He mumbled without stopping.

When his eyes shot open with a yelp, she was ready for him. Still, he was so fast that he nearly caught her across her face.

“Quiet!” she snapped. “Peace, what did you hear? What did you see?”

He was breathing too fast. Something wasn’t right with his eyes but he wouldn’t look up to let her see it.

“Don’t—No, I don’t know. Something. Couldn’t—I’m sorry, I couldn’t-”

She slapped him lightly. _None of that,_ “Calm. What did you hear?”

He shook his head, but he sucked in a breath through his nose and made himself settle. Control. At all times, control; as much as he could manage. “Couldn’t understand. I’m sorry. Something that whispered, but it was like shouting.” Her robe wrinkled in his grip. His words sounded like they’d been squeezed in a vice.

“And what did you see?’

“Dark. Just dark. Black.” A pity, she thought. Still, he could try again. “I’m sorry. I don’t-”

“Quiet down.” Her claws in his scalp made him flinch but he listened. Red beaded up under her fingers and his shaking lessened.

How very strange to have to calm him. She didn’t often have to. Hadn’t for some time.

Of the two of them, he was often the quieter. For all that she had lived over ten thousand years and for all that her patience was without limit, she was not a creature of stillness. Her own quintessence was a torrent, a gale, a tremor, a blaze. A twisting, growing, lively thing of industry and risk and venture.

He however. Once he had begun to settle himself—once his own luster had started to emerge from behind his fear—she was amused to discover that his preoccupation with control was not the childish coping she’d thought it to be. The truth rather, was that his spirit was as steady as hers was turbulent.

Comfortable? No. Indolent? Satisfied? No, never. But steady.

 _Patience,_ she’d tried to teach him. _Focus._

How droll. That he kept to her lessons near better than she did. Many eyes upon him; many voices (victims and witnesses both; the roaring crowds from his past, and now the stunned whispers of the newly conquered) that did speak of him. But none of them had ever noticed it.

Fast as he moved ( _Sparkstorm,_ _Whisperstrike_ ), wild as he fought ( _Voidhound, Cullscythe_ ), bright as he slowly began to shine ( _Champion;_ always _her Champion_ ), he retained his control _._ Deeper than all of that—at the eye of it, at the heart of it—he remained still.

More than once, she herself had leaned on his calm. Drawn on it and used it to focus her own.

She sighed in a vague sort of annoyance. It did not become him, to be so frightened of dreams.

“Go look again. Closer.”

She saw him swallow. His mouth twisted in protest for just an instant. But he knew better, and he mastered himself and closed his eyes.

She settled to watching the lights again. Peered through each one, far and wide.

Ill-spent, twenty years was worth less than a single day. Well-spent, seventeen days was worth more than a decade. A morning’s work could stand for ages. A century of effort could be undone in an instant.

She’d tried to recreate the empire’s history so many times. She’d tried to remake the Names she had known. And she’d loved every creature she’d ever built. Truly. She needed to, for she only gave them form and breath by loving them.

(Then she took special care to forget it. When they opened their eyes, she offered them instruction and direction and nothing more. Her regard, she withdrew. Viciously, she hoarded it safely away for herself. Far, far from any other.)

But all she ever managed were monsters. All she could achieve were beasts. Riotous and mad, and then weaker than they should have been. Aimless. All that effort, a waste.

Her master had forgiven her this. Monsters, he said, would be sufficient. Still, it shamed her. What was the use of a creature that rent worlds open instead of claiming them? What good was a brute that smashed resources instead of harvesting them? The Altean godwarrior was long gone. What need was there for groundshakers; for skydemons?

Her Champion, though.

She knew many around her marveled at her devotion to him (many voices that she’d had to quell in the beginning). Given all she had seen, _what_  could remain in the universe that could possibly impress her? Many had wondered why one such as Haggar—a witch who had watched ten millennia of life unfurl around her—would take interest in any slave at all.

Could he be great? Certainly. But Haggar had already known greatness. In ten thousand years, Haggar had gathered and upraised conquerors and warriors like the meanest farmer raises crops.

So much life she’d lived. So much she had seen, which now strained the seams of her mind.

Yet, for all her years, all her experience with the ways of the worlds—for all the great Names she had known—she had adored her Champion. From the day she'd first laid eyes on him. Enough to sweep him up, then and there. Enough to gamble on him, and on the heights he might one day attain. He was not like her others—the many, the mighty who had preceded him. Space did not crack under the weight of his boot. The strength of his arm did not shatter worlds.

(It was right, she thought, that it did not these things. He was of a different age. A more modern, more  _refined_ age. One ill-suited to such heedlessness.)

Even so.

His heart was familiar. Small as he was (so very small), he reminded her of what had once been.

He had no magic to his name, save for what she gave him. He did not command the rock and ice and fire of space.

Even so.

She saw a future for him. One where the sound of his voice would bend the spines of the masses. Where the force of his will _would_ move the worlds. This was the gift he had to give. To her, to her master.

All the work she had done with him was just that. And her claim that she'd _given_ him what he was; she knew it for a lie. Yes, she made him strong. She cleared the dust and mess from him. She was the one now honing him to a fine edge.

None of that changed this truth that the gift was his to give.

If he was willing.

“Bear with me, my love.” She ran careful fingers over the stands of white in his hair. He was twitching. Mumbling. She pressed his mind heavier, so that his fears could not wake him up.

If he was willing, he would shine.

“As I bear with you. Bear with me, a while longer.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ... If I were a cute little alien, prone to song and poetry and rumor, what nifty, lil epithets would I hang on the defenders of the universe?  
>  In approximately eight minutes, I jotted down like, six for each paladin (I like to claim it’s because I’m fancy and well-read, and indulge in too much Homer and Valmiki. [Shifty eyes] Uhm... yeah... that’s _totally_ the reason). But that’s another fic.  
>  Come laugh at me on [Tumblr.](http://sassafrassrex.tumblr.com/)


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